Anesthesia
by lilacs and lolita
Summary: Maybe it was masochism. Or maybe Renji yearned to release all the pain from his body. Whatever the reason, he smoked himself stupid until even breathing becomes painful.


**ANTESTHESIA**

**Authors Note**: Quick drabble that I composed during the early hours of the morning. I decided to devote something to my favorite pairing in Bleach, Renji/Rukia (even though the depiction here is one-sided). Enjoy.

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Nicotine seared through him, dizzying his mind in a confusing haze of smoke. He spent most of his time smoking now. Not the most savory habit he learned from the human world, though it helped him cope. Even when the after-taste of ash lingers in his mouth the next morning, making it gritty with bitter flavor, Renji didn't mind. It filled the void of apathy, giving him a glimmer of sensation. So Renji smokes himself into a lethargic stupor, allowing his thoughts to drift to the Rukongai days. How long ago has that been? Time remained motionless within Soul Society, stagnant.

Everything that transgressed between them seemed to have happened in another lifetime, far away from the intangible present embodying his reality. His mind couldn't conceive his surroundings; he feels so detached from it all, vanishing into a personal vertigo of solipsism. When he suckles the end of the cigarette and exhales plumes of silvery smoke, he watches the world evaporate into illusory gray. His eyes sting from smoking more frequently, though he credits that to chemical shrouds and toxic residues wreathing the air he breathed. He coughs more often from his self-inflicted abuse too, but somehow, there was depraved ecstasy in this breakdown.

Maybe it was masochism. Or maybe Renji yearned to release all the pain from his body. Whatever the reason, he smoked himself stupid until even breathing becomes painful. Renji may not be the brightest person, but Renji knew smoking had deteriorating effects, especially in a gigai. Yet the pleasures of the flesh couldn't be denied; from the initial burning of the lungs and the breathy exhalations spewing forth smoke, Renji immersed himself within this indulgence, submerged in chemical euphoria.

After he exhausted a few packs of cigarettes, Renji drenched the taste of ash and smoke with throat-searing drinks. Anesthetized with alcohol and nicotine, Renji's thoughts orbited back to his childhood days. Sometimes he became so intoxicated he fainted onto the ground, dreamless, disillusioned. One time, in the isolation of his solitude, Renji sobbed, cleansing all the grief and pathos from his body, all the alcohol and toxins he poisoned himself with splattered across the floor. He howled and cursed and screamed, before collapsing once more.

Unfortunately, he didn't blank out into a coma. He found himself awake again, conscious. His throat felt filthy raw, like a strip of animal hide. Out of habit, he ate whatever had been lying around. It might have been taiyaki, though Renji couldn't taste anything except cigarette sediment and faint remnants of vomit. Might as well go to the bar again, even though he knows he'll only wretch it up, like always. It didn't matter. Maybe he'll drink himself into sweet oblivion. It sounded nice.

Staggering into the smoke-veiled bar, Renji begins his ritual. He doesn't remember how much alcohol he consumed, though he realizes the petite little woman at the other end of the bar began taking on the semblance of _her_. Short-cropped black hair. Large blue eyes. Petite frame. Forcing another drink down his aching throat, Renji drowns all rationality with alcohol-induced confusion, seeing the super-imposed image of his unrequited love imprinted on that woman's features. The vixen doesn't even have a name to him. She's simply _the_ woman, and eventually, Renji can't even distinguish between the two.

He offers to take her to his place, and she agrees. They don't bother with casual conversation or unnecessary trivialities. There is no ritual, no foreplay. Simply an incessant need, groping and kissing and grinding. Their movements are confused, sluggish from the influence of alcohol, but Renji doesn't care. A swirling orchestration of bucking bodies and writhing limbs, latched lips, and heated flesh, Renji sees a sweet hallucinatory vision of his beloved in front of his eyes. Feverish from this wavering apparition moaning and squirming underneath him, Renji plunges within her clenching recesses. As he does so, the woman (_Rukia_) closes her eyes. Grunting, Renji desperately thrusts himself against her, while she arches her back and shoves her hips in retaliation. Once they climax, they lay against one another, panting. When she finally opens her eyes, Renji doesn't know whether he should weep or throw up or both. He wasn't drunk enough to realize her eyes weren't the same shade of blue.


End file.
